Date: May 7, 2015 Location: Barton Family Farm, Missouri
The Barton farmhouse stood quiet under a pale evening sky. For once, there was no roar of jets, no clash of metal, no Hydra gunfire—just the low hum of crickets and the distant laughter of Clint's children inside.
Out by the fence line, Steve Rogers leaned against the weathered wood, his shield resting at his side. Tony stood a few feet away, nursing a drink he hadn't touched, his gaze distant.
"You really think hiding out here changes anything?" Tony asked, finally breaking the silence.
"It's not hiding," Steve said firmly. "It's regrouping. We don't win by tearing each other apart."
Tony let out a short, humourless laugh. "Yeah, because teamwork's worked out great so far. Ultron was supposed to be the endgame. Peace in our time. Instead, I gave the world a murder-bot with a god complex. Congratulations to me."
Steve's jaw tightened. "You don't get to shoulder all of it, Tony. We all made choices."
Before Tony could fire back, the ground trembled. A low hum filled the air, building like a storm. Light split the darkness—a golden-yellow shimmer, rippling like liquid sunlight—and formed a tall, circular portal in the field.
Both men instantly dropped into battle stance: Steve raising his shield, Tony's repulsons glowing to life.
From the portal stepped a figure.
It was a young man, tall and slender, but he moved with an unearthly grace. His Armor gleamed silver-white, smooth and flawless, engraved with delicate, feather-like patterns. A white cape flowed from his shoulders, moving like silk in an invisible wind. His skin was pale as porcelain, his features sharp and noble. Long silvery-white hair, faintly shimmering lavender under the portal's glow, framed his face and fell down his back. His eyes—icy blue, glowing faintly—swept calmly across the two Avengers, as if weighing their worth.
He did not draw a weapon. He only stood there, serene, with a faint, unreadable smile.
Steve's stance tightened. "Identify yourself!"
The man didn't answer immediately. His presence was heavy, not hostile, but... awe-inspiring, like standing before something not entirely human.
From inside the farmhouse, the sound of boots on wood. Natasha appeared first, pistols drawn. Bruce followed, the tension clear on his face. Moments later, a shadow detached itself from the porch—Nick Fury, hands clasped behind his back, his one eye fixed on the stranger.
"Cap," Natasha said cautiously, her gaze flicking between Steve and the newcomer. "We've got company?"
Steve didn't lower his shield. "More like an uninvited guest."
Tony tilted his head, scanning the figure with his HUD. No readings. No registry. No explanation. His voice dropped low. "Great. Because what we really needed right now was an angel cosplay convention."
The stranger's eyes finally settled on Tony. For the first time, he spoke—his voice calm, low, and melodic, carrying a weight beyond his years.
"I've been searching for you."
The stranger's words hung in the night air like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"I've been searching for you."
Steve took a cautious step forward, his shield still raised. "Who are you?"
The figure inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging the demand. "My name... is Griffith." His gaze swept across the group—Steve's guarded stance, Natasha's ready pistols, Tony's glowing repulsors. He didn't flinch. "But you may know me better as something else. I am the one Hydra called... Project Chimera."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Steve's grip on the shield tightened. Natasha's eyes narrowed. Bruce's mouth parted in disbelief. Even Fury, unreadable as always, raised an eyebrow.
But Tony—Tony froze.
His HUD blinked through data, cross-referencing Hydra's archives, fragments of files they had recovered from Sokovia. The name—Chimera—was there. A project shelved, deemed unstable. A creation made from the impossible... forged from his DNA.
"No..." Tony whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "That's—no. That's not—" He took a sharp breath, his voice rising. "Hydra couldn't have pulled it off. You're lying."
Griffith's serene expression never faltered. His icy-blue eyes, calm and steady, turned to Stark. "I was born in their labs. From your essence. From Thor's essence. A vessel with no soul... until fate intervened." His voice carried neither anger nor pride. Just simple fact. "They sought to make a weapon. Instead, I became something else."
Thor wasn't there to hear it, but his absence made the silence even heavier.
Steve's eyes flicked between Tony and the boy in silver armor. "If that's true... why are you here? Why now?"
The faintest curve of a smile touched Griffith's lips. "Because the storm is coming. Ultron is not your only enemy. I am here... to help you."
The Avengers didn't relax. Not yet.
Natasha shifted her stance. "Help us? Coming out of a glowing portal dressed like a medieval angel? Forgive me if I'm not buying it."
Bruce muttered, almost to himself, "A hybrid of Stark and Thor's DNA... that's—scientifically, genetically—it shouldn't even be possible."
"Yeah," Tony snapped, his eyes locked on Griffith. His usual sarcasm was gone; his tone was sharp, strained. "Trust me, Banner, I'm well aware of what shouldn't be possible. Doesn't change the fact that apparently I'm staring at some knockoff kid Hydra cooked up in a basement."
Griffith didn't flinch at the insult. His gaze lingered on Stark, steady and unreadable, before answering softly: "Not a knockoff. A consequence."
The air grew heavy again.
Steve stepped in, raising a hand toward Tony, as if to ground the moment before it spiraled. "We need answers. We don't jump to conclusions until we have them."
Tony didn't answer. His repulsors dimmed slightly, but his expression stayed locked between denial and something deeper—fear.
Fury finally spoke, his tone level but edged. "If what the kid says is true, then Hydra's sins just got a whole lot darker. Question is—" His one eye narrowed at Griffith. "—do we treat you as an asset... or a threat?"
Griffith met his stare without hesitation. "That depends on you."
The night settled again, the only sound the distant rustle of the fields. The Avengers stood caught between instinct and uncertainty, between distrust and something they couldn't quite name.
And for the first time, Tony Stark had no clever remark. Only a silent, gnawing question in his mind.
What the hell am I looking at?
Griffith pov :-
That thought is a constant drumbeat in my head as I stand here, face-to-face with the Avengers. They look like the heroes from the movies I used to binge back in my old world, but not quite. Steve's face is sharper, older, more like the comics. Natasha's eyes are colder, deadlier. Even Tony—he has the same swaggering confidence, but right now he's looking at me like he's staring at a ghost.
And maybe he is.
I'm not supposed to be here. I was just a college kid in California, eighteen and fresh out of an orphanage, trying to build something like a normal life. Then came the truck. That goddamn truck. I didn't even see it coming.
The next thing I knew, I wasn't on the street anymore. I was standing in an infinite, white void. And there he was. The One Above All. Except he looked just like Stan Lee—smiling, glasses, that old man twinkle in his eye. He said only one word to me:
"Live."
And then I woke up in hell. A Hydra facility. Cold metal. Needles. Wires in my veins. They called me Project Chimera. A body without a soul, built from stolen pieces of gods and men. From Tony Stark's DNA. From Thor Odinson's blood.
Yeah. My so-called fathers.
But I wasn't alone. The Ancient One found me. She pulled me out of Hydra's cage, told me the future depended on me. She never said why. Just... that when the time came, I'd know where I was needed.
That's why I'm here. Because Ultron is tearing this world apart, and these people—this messy, broken, stubborn family—are the only ones standing in the way.
Now I'm standing in front of them, shining armor and angelic cape, with a humming portal at my back. They're ready to tear me apart if I make the wrong move.
Steve Rogers looks at me like a threat. Natasha Romanoff looks at me like a puzzle she'll solve in five moves. Fury looks at me like a weapon he's deciding whether or not to load.
And Tony Stark? He's looking at me like I'm the worst mistake he never made. Half his son. Half a stranger. I don't think he likes that.
But it doesn't matter. Because whether they trust me or not, whether they accept me or not, I know why I'm here.
I'm here to help them.